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AT THE EDGE OF 
THE WORLD 

BY 

CAROLINE STERN 




BOSTON 

THE GORHAM PRESS 

1916 



Copyright, 1916, by Caroline Stern 
All Rights Reserved 



A^ C/ 






'S^\^ 



The author wishes to thank the following publications 
for permission to reprint some of the poems in this vol- 
ume: The Atlantic Monthly, The Cosmopolitan, The 
Delineator, The Congregationalist, Harper's Weekly, 
Collier's Weekly, The Farm Journal, Farm and Fire- 
side, Motherhood and The Arts and Crafts Bulletin. 



The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 




APR 20 1916 
©CI.A4277S1 



TO 

MY MOTHER 

WHOSE LIFE MADE ALL IDEALS 
POSSIBLE 



CONTENTS 

Mother's Songs page 

I Mother Dawn 9 

// At the Cradle 9 

/// Slumber Song lO 

IV In the Quiet Hour il 

V The Shadow I2 

VI Bereft 13 

To A Child, Just Awakened . . . . 15 

Lullaby 16 

Mammy-Lore 17 

Mammy's Lullaby 19 

An Idyl 20 

The Garden of Mistress Bess . ... 21 

All in King George's Time 23 

The Dawn 25 

Narcissus 27 

Loneliness 30 

Arachne 33 

Youth 35 

But Two 36 



PAGK 

Song 37 

Night Hours 37 

Before Your Coming Feet 38 

A Jar of Honey 39 

The Healing 41 

An Old Tale 43 

To Tennyson 48 

Mark Twain 49 

The Poet 52 

The Celtic Revival 54 

The Red Cross 55 

Galatea to Pygmalion . . . . . 56 

The Night-Blooming Jasmine .... 57 

The School-Mistress 58 

A Parable 59 

The Little Nun 60 

The Exile 62 

On the Swiftwater Road 63 

Amid the Conflict 65 

Hallowe'en 66 

After-Grace . 67 

A Farewell 69 

Easter Song 70 

Grown Old 71 

In Louisiana 73 

The Rose 75 



PAGE 

Love's Gifts 77 

The Colorist 79 

Duty ..80 

The Mistletoe 81 

The Perfect Love 83 

Fellowship 85 

Watchman, What of the NicHTf . . 86 

The Queen Decides 87 



Butterfly, butterfly, spread out your wings. 

Bear me aloft and away ; 
Away to the mystical region that rings 

The edge of the practical day. 

To the violet land at the edge of the world 

Where fancy may rove at will. 
May float where the opaline shadows lie curled 

At the elf-queen s guarded sill; 

Where sits Duty asleep with her head on her knees, 
And Care growls beside her in dreams; 

You may flutter your jewelled wings there as you 
please. 
No fear that he'll wake in their gleams. 

Butterfly, butterfly, spread out your wings; 

Are they clogged with the weight of the years? 
A hi this world-ache, this world-doubt that deadens 
and clings. 

Ah! this heavy air misty with fears/ 

Away! cast it off! luhat portion have we 
With these grovellers creeping in dust! 

We are winged, they are wingless; what kinship 
may be? 
Away! for we can and we must! 



JVe are winged! then away! nevermore ^ nevermore! 

For the meshes of brotherhood bind. 
We are theirs, they are ours; we bear evermore 

The bonds of our suffering kind. 

The weight of all grief is the weight that we bear; 

We are barred by the sins of all time; 
The cry in our hearts is the cry that we hear 

Upborne from the mud and the slime. 

Nevermore to the child-world of nebulous dreams. 

To the first Eden peace of the soul. 
We are pledged to the passionate struggle that 
streams. 

Panic-struck, to an undefined goal. 

We have seen, and the veil not again may be drawn. 
We have heard, and forever shall hear; 

There is work to be done ere the long-delayed dawn. 
Ere the day of adjustment draws near. 

Not as dreamer, but toiler, henceforth, among 
things 

Of the ruck and the murk and the steam; 
Upheld, it may be, by a gleam on your wings 

Of a light from the days of our dream. 



AT THE EDGE OF THE WORLD 



MOTHER SONGS 



Mother Dawn 



A dream is in thy face; thy veiled eyes brood 
Above thy task; a sweet, uncertain mood 
Hath carried thee beyond all ken of ours. 
Art thou with Her, hedged round with lily flowers 
Hearing once more the angel's " Blessed art thou " ? 
Across thy window blown, an apple bough, 
Against the sky a tracery of bright wreaths, 
In incense sweet its blossom-promise breathes 
Of summer fruitage fair. The morning light 
Sifts through thy muslin curtains, misty, white, 
A halo round thee. Just so vaguely sweet, 
So shimmering, wavering, brightly incomplete, 
Thy musings, stitched into the fairy seams; 
Till he, the newly-born, clothed in thy dreams. 
Transmuting them to rosy flesh, shall lie 
Soft in thine arms, a living sanctity. 

II 

At the Cradle 

How still he sleeps. The morning sunlight falls 
Upon his downy head. A song-bird calls 
Without the window. Young, rejoicing leaves 
That garland the new Spring, a checkered shade 
9 



Upon the pillow throw; but his bright head is laid 

In sunlight only; each soft cheek receives 

The radiant kiss. One loving ray 

Lies lightly on the parted lips where play 

The frolic graces of a baby's dream; 

These sportive curls have caught another gleam; 

A golden gift it leaves in every tress. . . . 

God bless my baby! Every sweet caress 

That leaves its clinging joy about my heart, 

Each loving hope — a loving fear in part, 

Each whispered prayer his little bed beside, 

Each fond, exulting pulse of mother's pride, 

All he has brought of peace and guileless joy, 

Return in blessings on my darling boy. 

Ill 

Slumber Song 

Sleepy head, go to bed, 
" Now I lay me " has been said. 
Mother's made a cosy nest. 
Sleepy head must go to rest. 

Sleepy eyes, baby wise. 
Brightest stars in Mother's skies, 
Hide your twinkling for the night, 
Mother's kisses shut them tight. 



Snug and warm, sleet or storm, 
Sleepy head is safe from harm. 
For higher watch than Mother keeps 
Angels wake while baby sleeps. 

IV 

In the Quiet Hour 



Little one, little one. 
Lying lightly on my breast, 
Helpless, cuddling, downy thing, 
Soft cheek to my bosom pressed — 
Can you hear its pulses sing 
Love for you, my tender one? 

Soft your velvet lips I kiss. 
Crumpled like a poppy pink. 
Sweeter than the flower-dew 
Humming-birds, athirsty, drink. 
Soft I drink — ah, would you drew 
Stormless years with every kiss. 

2 

Little one, sleeping one. 
Long I may not shelter give; 
Not for long my arms may fold. 
In the larger life you'll live. 
Helpless I, whate'er it hold, 
To protect you, little one! 
II 



Mary wondered o'er her Son; 

Glory on the manger fell, 

Kings and shepherds knelt in prayer. 

Did no faintest shadow tell 

Of the cross the Christ must bear, 

Bear for you, my precious one? 



Little one, helpless one. 
Would I keep you in your nest? 
Baby limbs within mine arm? 
Baby head against my breast? 
Keep you mine to shield from harm? 
Wrong you so, beloved one? 

I must yield you, little one; 
Kneel beside the thorny way, 
Watch you bear your cross alone; 
Stretch mine arms and yearning pray. 
Pray as Mary for her Son. 
May He guide you, little one. 



V 

The Shadow 

Lie still, little head, in thy nest; 
Lie safe, little heart, upon mine; 
For love is the watch of thy rest, 
And angels with Mother combine 

12 



To guard thee asleep on my breast — 
Lie safe, little heart, upon mine. 

The rough wind may bluster without, 
Not a curl shall he lift from thy cheek; 
Shall not ferret thy hiding place out 
Tho at crevice and cranny he seek; 
Tho he shatter the oak in his rout, 
Not an eyelash shall stir on thy cheek. 

Unbidden there enters a guest — 
Lie still, little heart, 'tis not thine! 
His wings shall not darken thy nest, 
'Neath their coldness my flower would pine; 
I will hide him deep down in my breast — 
Lie safe, little heart, upon mine. 

VI 

Bereft 

To paint him as he stood beside her knee, 
His dimpled chin within his hollowed palm, 
And his deep eyes in dreaming raised to hers — 
To paint the look of innocence that lay 
Within them — charm of utter sinlessness. 
That whitened all her thoughts lest, unaware, 
Some evil thing into the Paradise 
Of his pure soul should enter through her sin ; 
Recall the eager treble of his voice, 
The loving touch of his soft, baby hands, 
13 



Th' insistent passion of his baby heart, 

Her kingdom, where she held unrivalled sway — 

This, Father, hast Thou left her! Is it well? 

All tender hopes that clustered round the child 

Deep buried with the lilies in his hand. 

And she who, Mary-like, in days that were, 

Had pondered all these things within her heart, 

Sits dry-eyed in the shadow of her loss — 

A woman left with idle, empty hands, 

A mother left with empty, aching heart. 

Oh, grief made sweet with holy memories — 

Not empty while the warmth of little hands 

Still lingers in the hands that listless lie; 

Oh, never empty while thy brooding eye 

Can trace the bright curls crushed against thy breast, 

The rose of rounded cheek, the dewy sweep 

Of sun-tipped lashes, all the baby grace 

That nestled helpless in thy sheltering arms. 

Oh, sacred mystery of love and loss! 

Oh, shadow lost within the light that streams 

About the vacant, angel-guarded tomb. 

Far-streaming through the years that lie beyond. 



'4 



TO A CHILD, JUST AWAKENED 

What thro' the night hours hast thou seen ? 

Within what spirit world hast been? 

That thou, last eve a bit of clay, 

A little satyr worn with play, 

The tender scorn of one and all, 

A rosy little animal, 

Shouldst wake at morn a thing divine, 

A mystic who has crossed the line 

Into the world unseen? There lies 

Its awe in thy wide-lidded eyes. 



IS 



LULLABY 

Sleep, my darling, sleep! 
The little brown cricket is singing his song. 

Hush, hush. 
On fields of moon-mist the shadows are long; 
Behind Mother's rocker a-tiptoe they throng; 

Sleep, my beautiful, sleep! 

Sleep, my darling, sleep! 
A-tiptoe they caper and waver and prance. 

Hush, hush, 
From carpet to ceiling they glide and they glance, 
A spell for my baby they weave as they dance; 

Sleep, my beautiful, sleep! 

Sleep, my darling, sleep! 
Little lids falling like blankets of snow, 

Hush, hush. 
Slowly they cover the violets below. 
Dear little violets nestled in snow; 

Sleep, my beautiful, sleep! 



i6 



MAMMY-LORE 

Once Mammy took me out to walk. 
I heard a partridge in the grass. 
I never knew a bird could talk 
So plain; and now we never pass 
But he calls to us as we walk — 
And Mammy says, " It's like his sass." 

For Mammy says he says: 
" Boh, Boh, White. 
Peas all right! 
Wont be home hefore Saturday night! 

Down in the pasture pond the frogs, 
Says Mammy, are like naughty boys. 
At night they hop on two old logs 
And there they make a mighty noise. 
Little frogs and great big frogs 
Just quarreling like boys. 

Mammy says the little frogs say: 
'' Go-hack! go-back! go-back!" 

But the big frogs say, 

" Knee-deep, knee-deep, knee-deep! " 



«7 



One time I heard a hoot owl cry. 
'Twas in the middle of the night ; 
The wind sang " By-lo, hush-a-by." 
I was not scared — the moon was bright, 
And Mammy came — I did not cry, 
But Mammy thought I might. 

And Mammy told me what the owl said. She 

says he says: 
"I cook for my wife, er who cooks fer 

you-u-allf 
" I cook fer my wife, er who cooks fer 

you-u-all? " 



iS 



MAMMY'S LULLABY 

Bye, Mammy's baby-boy, go ter sleep ; 

(Bob-white's er whistlin' in de cawn.) 
Li'l chickabiddies, dey say "Cheep, cheep!" 

(By, by, baby, twel de mawn.) 

Sun's gwine down at de en' er de road; 

(Bob-white's er whistlin' in de cawn.) 
All de willis-whistlers '11 soon be abroad, 

(Baby gwine ter sleep twel de mawn.) 

Soon all de niggers '11 be drappin' er de hoe, 
(Bob-white's er whistlin' in de cawn.) 

Li'l marster's sleepin', better walk tippy-toe. 
(Baby gwine ter sleep twel de mawn.) 

Daddy comes er ridin' on his big, grey boss, 
(Bob-white's er whistlin' in de cawn.) 

" Heigh dar, Mammy, whar de little boss? " 
(Don' you wake dis chile twel de mawn.) 

Bye, Mammy's baby-boy, go ter sleep! 

(Bob-white's er whistlin' in de cawn.) 
Mammy's gwine ter pray Mars Jesus fer ter keep 

Watch over baby twel de mawn. 



19 



AN IDYL 

A little maid a-dancing 

Beneath a china-tree. 
The sun-flecks there a-glancing 
About her small feet, prancing, 

Flit not more lightsomely. 

Her tangled hair is yellow, 
Her rosy knees are bare; 

The wind is her playfellow; 

Where the golden shadows mellow 
They tread a measure there. 

Her little feet are twinkling, 
Her slender arms outspread, 
Her firefly eyes are crinkling 
At a mocking-bird that's sprinkling 
His bright notes overhead. 

He trills and thrills above her, 

She gurgles silver glee. 
How can I help but love her 
For the tender sweetness of her, 

A-dancing airily? 



THE GARDEN OF MISTRESS BESS 

Mistress Bessie hath a garden; 

Could you guess 

What Mistress Bess, 
Dainty, slim, and sweet, and fair, 
Being self both watch and warden 
Of this little elfin garden. 
Hath ordained should blossom there? 

Not a rose; too fine are they. 

Ladies fair 

With courtly air 
Thro' Kings' halls should move sedately. 
Gathered here in rich array, 
I can fancy Bess' dismay. 
Overawed by dames so stately. 

Not a lily, white and cold; 

Pale as queen 

By minstrel seen 
Shut within some lonely castle. 
Not a dahlia flaunteth bold. 
Knightly banner, red and gold, 
Rescue bound like loyal vassal. 

Nestling in trim garden plots, 

Cheerful, sweet. 

About her feet. 
Heartsease nod a bright good-morrow. 



Clustering close in shining dots, 

Jewel-like forget-me-nots 

Mock the sky whose blue they borrow. 

Faintly, in the early morning. 

Mignonette, 

With pale eyes wet, 
By Sweet-pea's wild pranks dismayed. 
Smiles a tearful, nunlike warning; 
Sweet-pea, prunes and prisms scorning, 
Romps like any country maid. 

So old-fashioned, it were fitting 

Mistress Bess, 

In flowered dress 
Of a style long since forgot. 
Capped and mittened, should be sitting 
Prim and placid with her knitting, 
Quaint as her quaint garden spot. 

As it is, in Bessie's garden 

Not a posy 

Is more rosy, 
Simply modest, freshly fair, 
Than is Bess, the dimpled warden 
Of this pleasant little garden. 
Sweetest flower that blossoms there. 



22 



ALL IN KING GEORGE'S TIME 

A dame within a gateway stood, 
Three children played beside the road, 
When up a stalwart soldier strode, 
('Twas in King George's time.) 

Sing hey, the little rebels, 
Sing ho, the little rebels, 
'Twas face about and march again, 
Sing hey, the little rebels. 

The soldier's coat was scarlet gay; 
The woman turned her head away. 
The children scattered at their play, 
(All in King George's time.) 

Sing hey, the burly Redcoat, 
Sing ho, the burly Redcoat, 
'Twas heave a sigh and wipe his eye. 
Sing hey, the burly Redcoat 

The woman held a one year's child. 
The homesick soldier's eye was mild. 
The baby stretched its arms and smiled, 
(All in King George's time.) 



23 



Sing hey, the traitor baby, 
Sing ho, the traitor baby. 
The peace of God lay in its eyes. 
Sing hey the traitor baby. 

For wife and child on an English farm, 
(God shield the father from all harm!) 
He kissed the babe on its mother's arm, 
(All in King George's time.) 

Sing hey, the gentle redcoat, 
Sing ho, the softened mother, 
'Twas " Keep you safe," and " Speed you well," 
Sing hey, the rebel mother. 



24 



THE DAWN 

In its banded rose and gold and grey, 
It's one great star on guard alway, 
Unweariedly, 
It may not be 
Unlike its brother, eve. 

But eve is gay 
And garrulous; we leave 
The work-shop of the day 
With straightening of shoulders that were bent, 
With hum of tongues, with jests and merriment. 
We draw into the game, 
Like children at their play. 
The miracle of sunset; gayly name 
Fantastic clouds that flame 
An angel, or a beast with shaggy mane, 
A jinn in wreath of smoke, again, 

A fiery city. The echoes of the day, 
Grown soft and softer as they die away. 
Still through the gorgeous sunset pageant chiming 
play. 

At dawn 
The brain wakes wondering; the spell 

Of dreams forgot makes alien 
Familiar things. A little space we dwell 
Newcomers from afar. The first of men 
Perhaps so waked in Eden. 



25 



Diaphanous, upon the sleeping lawn 
Lies the thin mist. 
Within the hour the sun will lift the veil 

From his wan bride ; will wake her to keen life 
And glancing smiles and vivid gleams 
Of dancing color; beautiful, but rife 
For good or ill. Now lies she pale; 

And still unkist, 
Now sleepeth, wrapped in holy dreams. — 
The world is hushed. The little birds a-stir 
With sweet, excited chatterings, and whir 
Of little wings, but make the balm 

Of silence soother.' There is awe 
And worship. In the sacramental calm 

We feel the pulsing of eternal law. 
We something understand, but know not what ; 

For wordless thoughts, emotions objectless 
Throng rarified. Who wake while others sleep, 
Who vigil keep. 
Watch from their vantage spot 
A wide horizon. 
Man grows less, 
God, more, in the fair promise of the dawn. 



26 



NARCISSUS 

The young Narcissus leans above the spring. 

What sees he therein ? 
" Narcissus! Narcissus! " the scornful nymphs sing, 

" Wilt cast thyself in ? 
Or wait on the bank for thy true-love to rise ? 
Cold heart, that the love of our best could despise, 
Lo, now for himself in vain longing he dies ! " 

And one casts a stone in the smooth-bosomed spring; 

The circles spread wide. 
The fair image is troubled by ring upon ring; 

All morn at his side 
They had mocked, and the youths that were with 

them mocked too. 
He had seen, mirrored bright upon bright, mirrored 

blue, 
Arms locking, lips meeting, youth and maid, two by 

two. 

The young Narcissus leans above the spring. 

His sad eyes dream on ; 
The bat lightly brushes the dusk with his wing, 

The mockers are gone. 
" Narcissus! Narcissus! " far ofE on the hill; 
On the breeze it blows near, the spring blurs to 

its thrill; 
Not unloved is the voice that death could not still. 



27 



He had fled from it, cast it away for his dream, 

And what was the cost 
Is writ on the wan face bent over the stream ; 

Yet spurned, 'tis not lost; 
Still it follows him, breathes over IT as o'er him; 
In the water, the vision smiles, faint-lined and dim, 
Its presence, voice-loved, fills the air to its rim. 

A shadow, himself — not himself ! — In the glow 

Of a youth rich as wine, 
A transfigured self he was given to know, 

Its spirit divine! 
His soul sank before it in triumph, in pain; 
That glorified self it was his to attain. 
If the strength were but sent him, the road but 
made plain. 

Not to thee alone, Greek boy, pale-cheeked, hollow- 
eyed, 
That vision was given! 

I'ull many a young monk in his cloister has died 
With eyes toward Heaven. 

Light glowed within light; God had called him 
"My son"; 

Reach God he must! That the goal might be won 

He had stripped his heart bare; with the world he 
had done. 



28 



Still the soul of youth loses the world as he leans 

O'er the wondrous ideal! 
Half-fledged, he can't grasp to the full what it 
means ; 
Alone it seems real! 
Alone to be heeded, tho earth voices call; 
Alone to be sought, tho his arms empty fall ; 
Youth and strength, life and love — alone, 'tis 
worth all! 



29 



LONELINESS 

There's one knocketh at my door; 

Knocketh low, knocketh ever. 
But my heart in anxious trembling 
Seeks to turn him with dissembling, 
That strange guest who owns no brother- 
(Nay, methought — perhaps one other) — 

Hist! he knocketh, ceasing never, 
And the sound grows more and more. 
Shall I ope to him my door? 

Shall I seat him on my hearth? 

Fitful, fierce, the log-fire blaze. 
When its flame hath fallen to embers. 
Bent and ashen, life remembers. 
When the soul in age sits blinking — 
Momently her spent coals sinking — 

She's scarce conscious in the daze 
Of her old years' drought and dearth, 
Of the guest upon her hearth, 

I am young; my heart beats full. 

What hath that grim guest with me? 
So I call the passing stranger. 
Clutching like a man in danger; 
So I fill my soul with revel. 
Scarce I ask " Art god or devil? " 
If he save from him that knocketh, 



30 



That grim Loneliness that knocketh, 

Knocketh ever. Patient he, 
Sure of entrance, masterful. 
My full-flowered years to cull. 

Tireless stands he, cowled in grey; 

Knocketh low, knocketh ever. 
Strange the gentle call may win 
Through the sound of song within ! 
That my feet, unwilling, lead 
To the casement o'er his head, 
Staring, staring at my dread 

As one stares at films of fever 
In the pale hour before day! 
Lo, he turns his head this way! 

Comes once more that prescience near, 
Sense of some one seen before. 

Someone standing, patient, stooping, 

As who listeneth. His head drooping. 

Wistful as a god that knoweth. 

And who, knowing, service oweth ; — 
Christ might knock so at my door. 

Christ! Ah, heart, that crouched in fear. 

Shall He send and I not hear? 



31 



Christ, who was my guest of late, 
Guest in gladness gone too soon! 

Shared the glory of the morning. 

Brightest of the sons of morning; 

At my table sat and feasted; 

Of my wine cup drank and blessed it; 
Strung my happy heart in tune 

With the angels that await 

God's " Good-morning " at His gate. 

Comes this messenger to bless? 

Bears he knowledge I must know? 
Silent as Gethsemane, 
Stark as grim Golgotha tree, 
Yet Christ sought him — Christ, that other 
Sought as brother seeketh brother; 
Comrade sole in hour of trial — 
Devil temptings, stern denial. 
Hollow round of earth and sky 
Tenantless. The soul may fly 
Here and yon, and everywhere 
Crouches silence in his lair. — 
In such vasts, unterrified. 
Can my shrinking spirit bide? 

Lo, his eyes, how deep and mild — 
Yearn as father's over child. 

Wait, my master, I will go, 
Gird my soul in trustfulness, 
Seek Christ in the wilderness. 
32 



ARACHNE 

A fairy web across my book shelves flung; 

A matchless 'broidery in defiance hung 

Just where in stately volumes, black and broad, 

The treasured wisdom of an age lies stored. 

Ah, thou presumptious ! darest again invade 

The precincts sacred to the heavenly maid? 

No more the rainbow of thy loom she fears; 

In ghostly grey thy misty net appears; 

In crouching lowliness more aptly meant. 

Sackcloth and ashes of the penitent, 

And where the sunlight through the lattice brought, 

Sobered to suit a scholar's sober thought, 

Lends still a glow to dusky tomes and walls, 

How cold his glance upon thee, culprit, falls. 

Is penance meant? Art culprit, thou? I see 

As I this morning saw, when with the bee. 

Leaving my treasure cell, I sought repose 

Within the sweet air of my garden close. 

The dew lay thick on every bud and blade, 

Sparkling like genii jewels richly laid 

Upon the casement in the Arab tale. 

Here, clasped upon the breast of lily pale; 

There, glowing in the deep heart of the rose; 

Set like a coronal upon the brows 

Of stately shrubs. Between two leafy sprays 

Of blossoming lilac hung the fragile maze 

Of thy light wheel with glistening threads outspun, 

33 



Breeze-Stirred and silver-shining in the sun. 
The bright dew, shaken from, the leafy prop, 
Hung from the rounds in many a jeweled drop, 
Gleaming in blue and green and rose and gold. 

There shouldst thou spin and there thy triumph 

hold; 
Olympus' summit to the maid divine 
Leave thou, the garden and the sunlight thine. 



34 



YOUTH 

My body held a merry guest 

A many years ago. 
He made of it a songful nest 

A many years ago. 
He sang through storm, he sang through shine ; 
His blood was quick as beaded wine, 
His speech was like a wild rose vine, 

A many years ago. 

The sad folk came from far and near 

A many years ago. 
His wilful caroling to hear, 

A many years ago. 
His mouth an April sun had kist; 
He was of faerie folk, they wist. 
He vanished like the morning mist 

A many years ago. 



35 



BUT TWO 

In all the world there live but two ; 

But two the world over! 
There are but two eagles that wing the blue, 
Two larks that scatter the morning dew 

From their grassy cover. 

In all the world there are but two, 

But two, the world over! 
" For 'tis you for me and I for you, 
But you and me in a love-bond true ! " 

Thus the heart of the lover. 



36 



SONG 

Your eyes were once my healing springs, 
And when my strength would fail, 

Deep of their sweetness would I drink, 
And I again was hale. 

I'd drink deep of their welling love, 
And it would make me hale. 

I am so tired, O love, my love, 

So very tired am I; 
Yet should I stay my halting steps 

And sit me down to cry, 
What comfort would there be for me? 

What care or comfort nigh? 



NIGHT HOURS 

Night — and the moonlight sleeping, 

And sleep for all but me. 
Night — and the night hours creeping 

Wearily, wearily. 

Night — and the old pain beating 

A fevered threnody. 
And the old and the new day meeting 

Wearily, wearily. 



37 



BEFORE YOUR COMING FEET 

Before your coming feet 

The garnered hours lie sweet 

With thoughts of you. — They fluttered down, 

Green-gold and red and homely brown, 

With hopes for you; they circling flew, 

Silk wings that searched the waste for you; 

When, lo ! — a stillness ! How they know 

I can not tell. No more they go; 

But restful, now, fulfilled, complete, 

They wait the coming of your feet. 



A JAR OF HONEY 

Gold of bees harvesting, 
Glimmer of dew, 
Fragrance of honeyed vine 
Flowering anew, 

Thrill of the Springtime, 
Fullness of June, 
Leaf-choir and bird-choir 
And heart-song in tune; 

Humming-bird pulsing, 
Star-throated lover, 
Waxen blooms bending 
Pallidly over; 

Pan and his satyrs. 
Wood glade sun-flecked; 
Rest hour of Dian, 
Her windy course checked; 

Gnarled boughs bend over, 
A reedy stream slips; 
Honeycomb staining 
Red, covetous lips; 



39 



White limbs and brown limbs 
Relaxed from the chase; 
Pan, from his high ledge, 
Laughs of his grace; 

Pan, the glad-hearted. 
His hairy sides shake; 
Warm-throated white ones 
The laughter uptake; 

White of the moon-chase, 
Brown of the earth, 
Mellow- voiced trilling 
And shrilling their mirth; 

Wreathed hair tossed backward, 
Wood spaces ring — : 
After long ages 
Awaked the notes spring. 

Caught in thy meshes 
As sunshine was caught, 
Trapped, while their cerements 
Swift the bees wrought. 

Magic thy brew is. 
The Golden Age lent thee. 
Pan, the undying. 
Forgiving, hath sent thee. 



40 



THE HEALING 

It was a day of wind and cloud ; 

My heart was sore and lone. 
Yet I, that could have cried aloud, 

Might make not any moan. 

For scarce myself knew what I lacked, 

Nor whereof I was fain, 
Nor what dull grief my spirit racked, 

Nor what might ease my pain. 

The scudding clouds they fled o'erhead 
As they themselves would flee ; 

As I would flee the nameless dead 
Of past years waked in me. 

'Twas like a silver chime at night. 
Heard in dim wonderment; 

Or like an amber-ringed light 
When dark was immanent. 

'Twas like a winged seed that sprang 
To strength of blade and fruit — 

Your voice that like the morning sang 
When mine own heart was mute. 



41 



O Friend, what magic in your words 

That I was comforted? 
The heart is full of singing birds, 

That late lay stark and dead. 



42 



AN OLD TALE 



The cliff falls sheer with a dizzy drop, 
But a stair winds down to the sandy shore 
From the rugged castle built on top. 
The steps are an hundred and fifty and four 
From the Princess' tower to the cottage door, 
Yet the Princess trips them, slender and sweet; 
Like gems on the stone fall her silken feet. 
The cottage is tiny and dark within, 
And the spinner sits at her door to spin. 

Whir-r-r-r ! Turn the wheel, 

Turn the wheel, turn the wheel. 

The shining thread winds round the reel, 

Round the reel, round the reel; 

'Tis fine as the strand of light where sways 

The spider dreaming his finished maze. 

While swinging, swinging, to and fro, 

Whichever way the wind doth blow. 

Whir-r-r-r ! Turn the wheel. 
Whirl the reel, whirl the reel. 
The Prince shall come on a golden keel; 
Turn the wheel, turn the wheel; 
The pale-cheeked fisher-boy may stay 
His idle boat in the windless bay; 
His eyes are sad, but what care I ; 
I shall spin my thread till the Prince rides by. 
43 



II 



One is a princess in velvet gown, 

And one is a spinner in fustian brown, 

Yet what shall two maids talk about 

When winds are restless and spring calU o»t 

With a voice of song the whole day ^Ofl/, 

And the mesh of her dreams is woven 'trong. 

They spoke of the Prince in a far-off land — 

" His eyes are blue," said the spinner-maid; 

" And bright his hair as the flax on my wheel. 

Or yonder butterflies that reel 

Round about and in and out 

Like bits of sunlight blown about." 

The Princess thought, tho she nothing said. 

Of blown, brown curls — it was on the sand — 

She had wandered to gather the little, pink shells 

Thrown up by the waves from the deep-sea cells; 

He had held a net in his idle hand; 

And his eyes were dark with tears unshed — 

But the Prince might come with the turn of the tide, 

And who but a prince might claim as his bride 

The highest lady in the land. 

"Let his eyes be blue," the princess said. 



Ill 



The dark-eyed fisher-boy sits on the sand 
With a broken net in his idle hand. 
His brothers' boats are far on the bay; 
44 



He is under a spell the gossips say; 

Or hath the maiden said him nay? 

For ever he haunteth the tide-swept shore 

Below the spinner-maiden's door. 

He comes not nigh ; he sits alone, 

And only the sea-birds hear his moan — 

O Mary Mother, pity me! 

The sea-gulls fly 

Through the windy sky, 

But they call no more, 

" Oh, follow me. 

Follow, follow, follow free 

To the gates of gold across the sea! " 

Mary Mother, never more! 
Pity me, pity me ! 

She came this way, 

And her eyes were sweet; 

On the sands I lay. 

The little wavelets, eager and fleet. 

Ran up the beach to kiss her feet, 

Her little feet, 

Her silken feet; 

They left their tiny print in the sand. 

1 kissed it when she went away. 
It were not meet 

A fisher-boy should kiss her feet; 
But none save the little waves might see 
That I kissed her foot-print in the sand. 

45 



She stooped to gather the little, pink shells 
That the sea throws out from its dark-blue 

cells. 
She held the largest in her hand 
Close to her ear 
That she might hear 
The voice of the sea. 
Her eyes were sweet — Did she look at 

me? 
Mary Mother, pity me! 

IV 

The wheel of the spinner is put away; 
She hath earned her rest thro' a toilsome day; 
She hath braided her hair and said her prayer, 
And her thoughts were such as a maid should wear; 
Yet now she sleepeth restlessly. 
Her lashes flutter on her cheek; 
The priest hath called her holy and meek. 
But who can tell what thoughts may run 
Thro' the ordered brain by sleep set free 
Of a prim little spinner whose work is done. — 
" For a prince comes sailing over the sea. 
He rideth by but he smiles at me. 
Oh, the princess waiteth, and fair is she. 
But his first smile is given to me. 
He rideth by and he comes no more, 
But I shall sit at my cottage door 
And weave a cloth for sweet Mary 
Because Her grace was given to me." 
46 



By night and by day she hears them play, 

The waves of the sea at the foot of the tower, 

And what they tell her none can say; 

For never a great king on his throne, 

Not a prince who comes from lands unknown 

Can guess what a princess dreams in her bower 

When her maids are sleeping and she sits lone. 

What they tell her none can say, 

Unless it be a boy adrift 

Far below in a fisher boat; 

For the prayer the warder may not hear, 

The willing wings of the wind are swift 

To bear to a listening princess' ear ; 

And a princess' sigh can downward float. 

Half in fervor and half in fear. 

Downward to the fisher boat 

To mingle with the fisher's moan — 

Mary Mother, pity me! 

I cannot sleep, I cannot pray ; 

I can but weep by night and day 

For love of a love that is not for me. 

O Mary Mother, pity me! 



47 



TO TENNYSON 

Thy song, O Laureate, what was it like? 
Not like the sweetness of the lute that moans 
Dead passions, sensuous grief for wasted loves, 
Tuberose and jessamine, whose pallid sweets 
Oppressive, speak of death, not life. Oh, sweet, 
Lovely, and sweet are they, but all too sweet. 
The dead alone may bear them, and we lay 
Their fragrance on a bier. It is not well 
To linger near death's body, even in love. 
So out into the free, untainted air 
Where life abounds; and in thy shining song, 
Life; and strong hope and health. Thy manhood 

stands 
Erect. O Singer of the golden day, 
Long may thy vibrant echoes ring the land. 
Voice answering voice from crevasse, dale, and scar, 
From peak to distant peak, until is lost 
The sluggish moan of him who lies inert. 
Wooing his own wan face in Hippocrene. 



48 



MARK TWAIN 

(a nocturne of the Mississippi) 

Who speaks of care, of toil, of time ? 
The night-wind cools the heated deck. 
The minstrel river sings in rhyme, 
And gathers largesse in our wake. 
And like a refrain, solemn, slow, 
The rousters' chant floats from below, 
" Ma-a-r-r-k twa-a-ain," 
" Ma-ark twa-ain, 'tis! " 

How long the sound trails through the air 
And winds among the spectral banks, 
Till lost in mystic shadows there 
Where close the willows draw their ranks ; 
And still the echoes, solemn, slow, 
Come back in whispers as we go, 
" Ma-ark twa-ain. 

Ma-ark twa-ain, 'tis! " 

A firefly shows a moment's gleam. 
Or is't a lantern's flickering light? 
A boy's laugh, faint as fading dream, 
Blends with the voices of the night. 
Hark ! Where the banks retreat in shade 
Is that Huck Finn's low signal made? 
Mark Twain, 

Mark Twain, 'tis ! 



49 



His spell is mingled with the night, 
The phantoms roll in changing line — 
A cabin on Sierra's hight, 
A castle on the storied Rhine. 
The out-worn East, the new-born West — 
Like wind-reefs on the river's breast. 
Mark Twain, 

Mark Twain, 'tis ! 

His book lies open on my knee. 
Read till the tender page grew dark, 
Enwrought with tender fantasy, 
The story of Joan of Arc, 
The fairy tree, the battle chance, 
The heaven-led peasant maid of France. 
Mark Twain, 

Mark Twain, 'tis ! 

Faith-fraught and high, each noble word 
Retouches still the patriot deed. 
And still a man's strong pity heard 
For a suffering girl in her martyr need, 
The mystery there, the wonder-thrill, 
And yet the woman, helpless, real. 
Mark Twain, 

Mark Twain, 'tis ! 



50 



I may not say the thing I feel, 
My pipe is but an humble reed ; 
The master's hand has waked the thrill 
Of high pride in a godlike deed. 
The spirit vision, making seem 
Yon star, the star of Bethlehem. 
Mark Twain, 

Mark Twain, 'tis ! 



51 



THE POET 

When earth was young, 
Dew-souled, star-girdled, seraph-sung, 
Yet pagan in its wildling grace because so newly 

sprung, 
Then, when its teeming clay was fragrant with the 

freshness of its morn. 
Young birds a-dart on skimming wings above its 

fields unshorn, 
In that first, thrilling, rapturous burst his pulsing 

soul was born, 

His sensitive breast, 
Responsive as the opal's crest, 
Still keeps the film of cloudlets shot with rose-fire 

from the west, 
The green of vivid woodland pools where gleaming 

things dart to and fro, 
The purple of the shadows cast on twilight fields of 

snow, 
The flame of windy gardens wherein wanton tulips 
grow. 



sa 



But once he stood 

Heart-struck at foot of Holy Rood 
Where Christ's forsaken cry went up, a human cry 

to God. 
That Christly sorrow passed to him, and, bleeding 

thro' its shining span, 
Left all his world empurpled with the crying blood 

of man, 
That cries to God from every clod that calls itself 

a man. 

The heir of light. 
His earliest iridescent right 
Is shivered thro' with shapes of dread and fantasies 

of night. 
Yet in that mingling he is one as Christ was one with 

God and man. 
His kindred grasp with each in clasp completes the 

destined span; 
His visions voice the love of God and the dumb 

prayers of man. 



53 



THE CELTIC REVIVAL 

Like the soughing of the wind among the branches, 
Like the echo of a sorrow heard in dreams, 

Comes the eerie song of him that newly waketh, 
The wild-heart Celt beside his murmuring 
streams. 

A singing as of sprite within the forest, 

A sweet and restless voice that moans and moans; 

A white-armed phantom seeking a lost lover 
Wails in the wind around ancestral stones. 

Was never song that moves us like that singing; 

Our hearts had half forgot their nameless kin; 
But dimly now along the music winging 

The sweet, lost lure of faerie and of jinn. 



54 



THE RED CROSS 

Ye seek the King? Lo, where He sits in state 
Beside a white Judean well! Ye bear 
A fragrant ointment to anoint Him there? 
Yea, He will need it as the hour grows late ; 
But now He keeps His court. Around Him wait 
His Father's charge — the worn, the blind, the bare, 
The halt, the maimed — left to His kingly care — 
The unclean, spurned beyond the outer gate. 
And ye are royal, coming in His name, 
Royal in service to the suffering. 
In that ye sheltered when the homeless came, 
In that ye fed the poor and hungering. 
Your warrant His; His spirit ye are of. 
Beloved, ye are of God, and God is love. 



55 



GALATEA TO PYGMALION 

Lo, I am here! From some vast void forgot 
Awaked, nor ever shall I sleep again. 
Methought I heard a voice that cried in pain, 
And I was I — Before, I know not what — 
Living or dead! For memory is not 
Of aught before thee. Master, I had lain 
Insensate ages longer, but thou, fain 
Of me, didst call ; — my soul of thine begot ! 

Awake! To what? O master, shall I fear? 
Strange lightnings, sudden darks are in my soul. 
Hold thou me fast, thy voice within mine ear; 
Hold thou and lead ; I know not path nor goal. 
No knowledge have I save of thee a-near. 
Thee and my trembling heart. Love, shall 
fear? 



56 



THE NIGHT-BLOOMING JASMINE 

Pale flower, dim, sweet star of night, 
Breath of the south at prayer, — high purity 
And fine reserve art thine, yet quiveringly 
Thy passion in rich fragrance thrills like light 
Along the brooding sense ; until not quite 
The soul may know its exaltation heavenly; 
Until not quite, its joy from pain set free, 
May one feel sure 'tis anguish or delight. 

Yet sacred falls thy bounty on the soul, 
Thine incense is as breath of benison 
From some grail seeking knight one chances on 
In yellowed pages of an ancient scroll. 
Heaven touched with earth thy throbbing es- 
sence made, 
A Lancelot pure, a passionate Galahad. 



57 



THE SCHOOL-MISTRESS 

Her place is not among the women blessed 

With grace of motherhood. Not hers to wear 

That halo of God's surest trust ; to share 

A little space His godhead ; nor to nest, 

Life of her life, upon a sheltering breast 

A tender babe. Oh, wonderful to bear 

The burden, heavy-sweet, of mother care — 

Instead, a hunger, gnawing unconfessed. 

Yet not a hunger all unsatisfied. 

The Great Economist her heart hath stored 

With fruitful warmth. There troops a rosy 

horde, 
Spendthrifts of love. Her motherhood, grown 

wide. 
All childhood coddles in the nest of one. 
Mother — perhaps where mother there is none. 



S8 



A PARABLE 

The trodden path was sunny smooth, 
And many thousands journeyed there. 

He asked them why, and they, good sooth, 
With curling lip or stony stare. 

Transfixed with scorn the hapless youth — 

Had not their fathers worn it bare? 

And when he tried, the erring wight, 
To turn him from the ways of men. 

To cut his rough way to the hight — 
(Be his the toil and theirs the gain ; 

Perchance his way might prove the right) 

Why then ? — oh, then ! — they stoned him 
then! 



59 



THE LITTLE NUN 

A nun peeped out into the world, 

(For blossoms burst and birds awake!) 
A little nun with a mind unsoiled, 
Shrinkingly furled like a fern close-coiled. 
(Alas! for innocent hearts that ache!) 

They had told her the devil was lord therein, 
That as the Christ had never been 
The world was lost in its tangle of sin. 

She saw the children at play in the street; 
The flag-stones rang to their prancing feet. 
The high walls echoed their laughter sweet; 

She saw young lovers with arms entwined; 
Alack, little nun with the unsoiled mind 
That yearned and panted for love of its kind ! 

She saw fond mothers with babe at breast. 
And her bosom was filled with a vague unrest, 
A sense of loss that might not be exprest. 

The gates shut fast on the nun once more. 
She knelt her down on the chapel floor 
And pardon prayed for a sin full sore. 



60 



Yet still, as she prayed, a vision would rise 

(For blossoms burst and birds awake!) 

Of the meeting of human hearts human-wise, 

And God's love speaking through human eyes. 

(Alas! for innocent hearts that ache!) 



6x 



THE EXILE 

Go where I will there is no rest; 

I wander from my heart away; 
It lies in a tower of lofty crest, 

But there, alas! I may not stay. 

Around the tower the fields are green, 
And great, dark oaks like islands lie 

Close-massed amid the emerald sheen — 
How happy there, my heart and I ! 

At distance, pleasant mansions smile, , 
Their faint smoke idling in the breeze ; 

The dimplings of a creek beguile 
The gnarled willows to their knees. 

There, heaven at morn smiles mistily, 
A-twin to fields of happy dew; 

At noon it spells infinity. 

So deep, so vast its domed blue. 

At eve, the liquid sky is red, 

In burning, cloudless rose it gleams; 
Such light was never elsewhere shed 

Save here and in the land of dreams. 

How happy were my heart and I 
Within that lordly tower to stay! 

My home lies where my heart doth lie, 
But I must wander far away. 
62 



ON THE SWIFTWATER ROAD 

A white road shut in like old cloister walks 
By tangled trees close-grown on either side, 
Cypress and thorn; rank vines; brown, brittle stalks; 
Black-fruited berry branches festooned wide; 

A narrowing vista and a reddening sky ; — 
Canst feel the charm of these, the deep, deep peace? 
No blare of color, rich and warm they lie, 
Grey-greens, soft umbers, purple of wine lees. 

A break in the thick walls — a cotton field 
Outridges fanlike toward the boundary 
Where close-encircling woods with mystery sealed 
Somber and deep against the sunset lie. 

Not elsewhere Nature seems so full of rest. 
Peace rises like an incense from the ground. 
Peace in the liquid lighting of the west. 
Peace in the purpling of the near woods bound. 

And in this consecrated spot — a grave ! 
(An instant heart-throb gives the awed salute 
Of life to death.) The berry branches wave 
Across the stone, aslant, moss-grown, and mute. 



63 



How came it here ? No legend lingers now 
Recording wish or ban or privilege; 
No man can tell when this man lived or how, 
Nor who lies buried at the field's rank edge. 

One Mnth sweet earth beneath this tender sky, 
One with all growth her rains and dews unseal 
Yet, toward the public road where men pass by 
That lonely stone slants with a mute appeal. 



64 



AMID THE CONFLICT 

Still blown like chaff before the wind, 

We flutter to the hidden goal. 
O God! for constancy of mind! 

For steady purpose, strength of soul! 

It is not that we fail to know 

Or fail to love the thing that's good ; 

The thing we would not that we do. 
Like Paul, nor do the thing we would. 

Speak Thou! Confusedly our clutch 

Is on our own divinity; 
Cry " Brother " ! Heal us with the touch 

Of thy God-soul's affinity. 

Speak Thou ! Thy mountain top we see. 
Make firm our feet and strong our hands. 

Not less the hight for us may be 

Than where transfigured Manhood stands. 



65 



HALLOWE'EN 

The glowing coals within the grate 
With pictured tales foreshadowed fate; 
For she who watched with tender eyes 
The glowing phantoms fall and rise, 
Within her breast the wizard bore 
To whom alone such fairy lore 
Will yield its tale of coming days. 
The elfin light about her plays 
With waving lines in shining maze, 
With dance fantastic weaves a charm 
To blind her eyes to shades of harm. 
Her hand her rounded chin supports. 
The flickering gleams her soft hair courts ; 
And bright curls, vagrant from their place, 
Throw flitting shadows o'er her face, 
But light sinks deep in her sweet eyes 
Where happy love a-dreaming lies. 



66 



AFTER-GRACE 

November, the priest! 

Rise, O friends, from the feast, 

The long feast of the year. 

The parting is near. 

The blossoms of May time 

We wreathed in her playtime 

For wine-cup and brow 

Droop, winter-kissed, now. 

We have drunk the rich summer. 

Each sun-bathed comer, 

Brown, languorous, sweet, 

Laid its gifts at our feet ; 

Was there canker in fruit? 

Was there worm-bitten root? 

Or a cup whose pale shine 

Spake of tears, not of wine? 

That chord is completest. 

That harmony sweetest, 

Where in weird undertone 

The minor notes moan 

Enriching the spell. 

All in all, we fared well 

'Neath the tent of the year ; 

Now, brown-cassocked and spare, 

Comes November, the priest. 



67 



" Rise, O friends, from the feast. 

" Our Father in Heaven, 
For grace Thou hast given 
We, Thy children, give thanks. 
For the love that has fed us. 
The guidance that led us, 
For the hope that maintained us, 
The rod that restrained us. 
We, Thy children, give thanks. 

" For the trials that proved us. 
For Thy Spirit that moved us, 
Blind, stumbling, but willing; 

" For the light that vii^ent thrilling 
And shimmering thro' May; 
For the velvet green-grey 
Of mid-June ; for the calm 
Of frost nights; for the balm 
Of long thoughts by the fire 
Where the sweet past ranks higher 
Than aught else ; for these 
Interlacing of care and of ease, 
God of sun, God of rain, 
God of joy, God of pain, 
We, Thy children, give thanks." 



68 



A FAREWELL 

I heard the Old Year hobbling out 

With a crunch, crunch, crunch in the snow; 

I thought he stopped with a farewell shout. 

As one who is loath to go. 

And I said, " They wait for the little New Yeaf 

That will come in the Old Year's stead ; 

There'll be none of all who have tasted his cheer 

To wish the old fellow God-speed." 

I put down my garlands and ran to the door — 

The wind and the rain in my face; 

The jubilant clock, and the bells in a roar; 

And the little Year tripping apace! 

A fluttering scarf and a sigh on the wind ; 

Was't the Old Year's sigh or mine? 

O little New Year, in the garlands we bind 

Is it holly or rue we twine ? 



69 



EASTER SONG 

Awake, the Lord calleth! 
The sunshine that falleth 
On each frozen clod 
Of the winter-dead sod, 
Is the mercy that healeth, 
The touch that unsealeth 
The eyes sealed by death. 
Awake to the breath 
Of His spirit that's living 
In winds of His giving. 
In sunshine and showers, 
In fragrance of flowers, 
In busy wings flitting, 
And merry notes greeting. 
The Master hath risen! 
Awake, oh, awake! 



70 



GROWN OLD 

Grown old? Ah, my friend, was it old that they 

said? 
The children that passed ? Why, the day is not dead 
Whose dawn dewed the meadows our quick steps 

still tread ! 

Youth is arrogant! Old? Turn your face to the 

light. 
What? your roses have fled and your temples are 

white ? 
Can age creep upon us like fog in the night? 

The sun-smitten fog's but a cloud in the blue, 
Yet never a June shall our roses renew. 
What ? old in a world that forever is new ? 

We stand on the threshold and open our eyes, 
(In the lore of this world we never were wise) 
And still we step forward in timid surmise. 

Still, like children, our eyes seek the dawn in the 

east 
(Perhaps its soft rose has its home in the breast. 
And the same fire lights both the east and the west). 

The new blue of the skies, the new green of the 

trees 
Are as fresh now as then in their power to please; 
How measure the ebb of our springtide by these? 
71 



But they say we've grown old ! Bright-headed they 

throng, 
Boys and girls in green mantles, and pause in their 

song 
To give reverence due — • not with them we belong. 

Is there spring of the spirit? sap rising anew? 
Body fades and soul grows! — Please God, it is true 
That work lies ahead for the spirit to do. 

Ah, well! we've grown old then, and younger eyes 

lean 
To seek in our eyes what the mysteries mean 
Of that vague thing called " Life," which they yet 

have not seen. 



72 



IN LOUISIANA 

There lies, not far, a forest grim 
With ghostly avenues and dim 
Wherein Mage Merlin well might lie 
Dead to the world thro' sorcery. 
A forest draped in misty moss. 
Dank from the branch, or swung across 
In hoary garland, drear and dread, 
To fright intruder from his bed. 
So wrinkled looks it and so old, 
So wintry seems it and so cold, 
One scarce can credit that it lies 
Beneath the warmth of southern skies. 
That just beyond in masses bright 
The water-hyacinth's purple light 
Fringes the shores of Lake Manchac; 
That neighboring fields are flashing back 
From curving blades of sugar cane 
His sallies to the sun again. 
That life and growth run riot near 
Aglow with color, warmth and cheer. 



73 



These forest aisles are gaunt and grey 
As fearsome secret hid from day ; 
Dark-bearded warders guard the way 
To the enchanted depths where, sure, 
Some charm-built dungeon walls immure 
A weeping princess, whose sad sight 
In hopeless seeking finds no light 
Save where a baleful dragon lies 
On guard, with sleepless, green-fire eyes, 
Coiled round her tower in fold on fold, 
Gleaming in crimson and in gold. 



74 



THE ROSE 

Before the king upon his fete-day came 
A lowly damsel. Courtiers, scarlet-robed 
And rich in jewels, grouped about the throne 
And through the spacious hall — rare in the light, 
Green, rose, and golden, sifting through the panes 
Of rich device. Upon the throne, the king 
Marked, silent, now this gilded throng, now that, 
Shining in borrowed radiance; then his thoughts, 
Wandering, through the casement glory leapt 
Into a wide beyond. 

There fell a hush. 
Then waked the king once more to time and place; 
And down the glowing hall he saw her come, 
A simple maid and lowly. Through the throng 
All unabashed she came; her eyes entranced 
Naught seeing but the king. Wide eyes, deep lit, 
And sweet be5'ond expressing! Wonder-sweet 
Her pale, uplifted face ! As one who came 
Obedient to a high behest, she knelt ; 
Her lips, a-tremble, moved, but she spake not. 
Only in clasped hands outstretched she held 
A crimson rose, and went now red, now pale. 
A moment still, each merry dame and lord 
Paused, wondering vaguely at the maid's rapt face; 
Then seized th' occasion for another jest. 
And smiling scorn was tost from eye to eye 
And light amusement, veiled as courtiers will. 



75 



But he, the king, looked deep into her eyes, 

Too innocent for hiding, purest light. 

As clear in glow as pools at sunset are; 

And as he looked his palace fell away, 

And he beside the maid in wildwood paths 

Wandered untrammeled ; free to live and love . . . 

The open road beneath the sun and stars 

And a free wind that ever ran before; 

A nightly shelter under ancient oaks 

That swung their sinewy branches low a-down; 

The cool of forest pools, the chase of deer. 

And ever welcoming, these upraised eyes, 

Full-orbed with love unquestioning. 

Again 
The king awaked to time and place. Again 
The pillared hall pressed close, and minstrelsy 
Rose, falsely jocund, mocking him. He caught 
The jest that gathered boldness as he dreamed. . . . 
" I take the rose. When state and power shall fail. 
Perhaps at Lord Christ's side in Paradise 
This rose will bloom for me. Is't so, sweet maid ? " 
" Yea, sire," she answered, kneeling, " it is so." 



76 



LOVE'S GIFTS 

Love, wouldst thou gold? 'Tis gold I bring! 
No galleon speeding with swift wing 
Thro' dangers of the Spanish Main 
Brought e'er such treasures home to Spain 

As my heart brings to thee, 

Full-freighted from the sea 
Of human yearning stretching far 
Beyond the utmost, shining star; 
And, searching, thus has found in thee 
Its haven through Eternity. 

Love, wouldst thou power? 'Tis power I bring! 
Beyond all power of pope or king! 
A god-power, for thou mayst control 
One quivering, earnest human soul 

That knows thee son of God. 

As the divining-rod 
That turns where living waters hide. 
My spirit turns to thee, my guide ; 
Thy feet rough uplands tread; for me 
That path, too, leads to victory. 



77 



Love, wouldst thou wisdom? Lore I bring! 

Rich wisdom of Love's gathering. 

All knowledge opens to the eyes 

Anoint with oils of Paradise. 

Let Love, the heaven-born, guide 
Our souls through paths untried. 

Then . . . what though jungles far divide, 

Or each from each the grey mists hide? 

All space with sure wings we traverse, 

And meeting tread the universe. 



78 



THE COLORIST 

Each man may read the truth of the world, 

Each man in his native speech; 
For one the measured march of sound 

The innermost shrine may reach; 
For one, the miracles hid in the dust; 

For one, where the planets roll; 
For me the word of God is writ 

In the flame of his seven-hued scroll. 

In the thin, blue veil of the morning mist, 

Like Morgana's curtain dropped ; 
In the purple-green of the distant wood 

Wherewith the heavens are propped ; 
In the flare that flames like a funeral pyre 

When summer hastes to her death. 
Or like viking ship in crimson and gold 

With a dead king laid beneath. 

No tiniest flower but in its cup 

The wine of His grace hath caught. 
No season of bloom or of shadow-veined snow 

But there His brush hath wrought. 
In the purple of night, in the gold of noon. 

In the twilight's rose and grey. 
In the angry orange of the storm 

As he glowers before the fray. 



79 



Over land and sea, over earth and sky 
Is the heaven-born radiance shed, 

And my soul in ecstasy rises to meet 
The glow of His canvas spread. 



DUTY 

The call to duty is not always kind, 

A harsh "Thou shalt " we sometimes hear; 

A quick command to a rebellious mind, 
A sudden lash sting hard to bear; 

Perhaps a burden on weak shoulders laid, 
That seemed for hardier sinews meant ; 

Perhaps a call to vigorous action made 
On souls whose vigor had seemed spent; 

Perhaps the breaking up of ties that bind 
To life such brightness as it lives; 

Perhaps the giving up of dreams that wind 
So close the heart breaks as it gives. 

Ah, well for us if duties erewhile done. 
Unquestioned done through duty-love. 

To strengthening links of duty habit grown, 
A cable to the sinking prove. 



80 



THE MISTLETOE 

Hoary mystic, have thy say; 
From the deep woods, grim and grey, 
Where, through sacred aisles of oak. 
Chance preserved from vi^oodman's stroke, 
Ghostly bards still chant the lore 
Magic Merlin taught of yore. 
And priestly shades in dim moonlight 
Still perform the mystic rite 
Which held thee sacred in the day 
Before the oldest Caesar's sway ; — 
Thence, not by golden sickle shorn. 
Thence by hands unreverent torn, 
Thou, magic crystal, shadowing dim, 
Strange dominion, legends grim. 
Art brought to grace the revels light. 
Where youth and mirth reverse the night. 

What to thee the springtime flood 
Of passion in a young man's blood ? 
What to thee the light that lies 
In happy girlhood's veiled eyes ? 
Thou sawest the fierce emotions rage 
Around the victim's ozier cage. 
When heathen faith could give its blood 
T' appease a godhead's angry mood. 
(The ozier cage has had its day, 
The crumbling altars pass away. . . . 



8i 



Ah! can we say the god of wrath, ^ 

The heathen god, no worship hath? 

That human sacrifice hath gone 

With passing of the Druid stone?) 

Thou sawest the savage Briton dare, 

With naked front the Roman spear; 

Thou sawest the frantic, mingled host, 

Warrior and priestess, fury-tossed. 

When Rome, even Rome, the mighty, quailed 

Ere Boadicea's great heart failed. 

Beneath the lamps thy faded green 

And clustered berries, tear-like sheen 

Are mocked by thoughtless, merry sport, 

A prophet bewildered in Folly's court. 

Yet prophet of doom well mayest thou be, — 

" As once with those, so yet with thee." 

Nay, death is death, and love is love, 

And love is life, tho nations move 

To funeral dirges as they pass. 

In vain thou boldest the shadowy glass. 

In the light of each other's eyes they see 

In its grey convex but the hopes that be, 

And the love that will live when the hopes are 

gone. 
When the revels end, when the music's done. 



82 



THE PERFECT LOVE 

Among the streams that, bubbling, well 

Upgath'ring from the hidden cell 

Of Being, lies a silent spring 

Of depths beyond man's measuring. 

O Father, turbulent the rush. 

The troubled, seething, upward push 

Of passions struggling to be free. 

Eddying incessantly; 

They boil and bubble and subside; 

Those silent waters still abide. 

And evermore the cleansing flood 

That winds its constant way to God 

Resistless, bears upon its tide 

The soul's sad garnering purified. 

Forspent are we with questionings; 
Our conscience halts at minor things ; 
Our highest earth-loves feel the taint 
Of clay; the fear that drove the saint 
Of old to desert hermitage. 
We dream, yet fear to dream; the page 
Of vision dimmed with shadowy doubts. 



83 



We love, yet fear to love ; self flouts 
That lovely flowering of its days, 
That beckoning of its dancing Mays. 
So worn with doubts that will not cease, 
We seek the fountain of release, 
That love in whose transcendent light 
All lower loves commingle white; 
A perfect love, a perfect peace. 
Within whose depths all questions cease. 



84 



FELLOWSHIP 

O thou whose spirit faileth 

In the night of agony, 
Alone where fear prevaileth, 

Thy Christ is calling thee. 

A cup the Master proffereth, 
The draught He drank for thee. 

His fellowship He offereth, 
At one with Christ to be. 

At one with Love that heedeth 

Foremost the human cry. 
At one, e'en though that leadeth 

To a cross on Calvary. 



8S 



WATCHMAN, WHAT OF THE NIGHT? 

Watchman, what of the night? 

The sky in Northern crimson drest, 
Should flash the coming of a guest 
To reveling creatures east and west. 

Watchman, what of the night? 

All's well without, all's well. 

The dew reflects the dim starlight, 
The firefly gleams a moment bright, 
I hear faint voices of the night. 

All's well without, all's well. 

Watchman, what of the night? 

Within the storm rack gathers fast; 

Ideals of the sacred past 

Are shattered by the howling blast. 

Watchman, what of the night ? 

All's well without, all's well. 

The crowned darkness keeps her state. 
The solemn hours inviolate, 
Move silent in the march of fate. 

All's well without, all's well. 



S6 



THE QUEEN DECIDES 



87 



Characters 

The King 

The Queen 

Ulric, a page 

Alice, a maid of honor 

Beatrice, her sister 

A charwoman 

A child 

A counsellor 

A foot-page 

Ladies of honor 

Scenes 

Act I An innner court of the palace. 
Act II Scene I — A balcony opening on a rose 
garden. 
Scene II — The Queen's tiring room. 

Between the first and second scenes of the second 
act is the space of a night. 



THE QUEEN DECIDES 
Act I 

Scene — A large, paved hall, or inner court of the 
palace. At the back and sides extends an arcade, 
ivy-grown and set with small trees and rose vines 
in sculptured tubs. At short intervals are marble 
seats. At the back, a marble stairway runs to an 
upper balcony. In the center is a fountain with 
a low coping. 

As the curtain rises, Ulric and Alice are discov- 
ered seated on the coping, laughing. 

Alice 
She is half blind ; her eyes are like a crow's, 
Half shuttered with a hoary film. She sees 
Scarce further than her nose; except for that, 
We were mewed up like two birds in a cage. 
I, since our gracious Queen has asked for me, 
Am freer — but, poor Trix ! Ulric, the Queen's 
An angel ! 

Ulric 
Yea, I know. 

Alice 

I would she'd put 
My love to some hard test. So slight am I — 
89 



Act /] The Queen Decides 

But there is nothing that I would not do 
To chase the shadow from her eyes. 

Ulric 

The Queen's? 
I know of none so happy ! 

Alice 

Nay, thou'rt wrong. 
Thou dost not love her as I do. Some say, 
With half a glance upon the sunlit sea, 
" 'Tis green " or " blue." Yet, even then, beneath 
Its foamy crests the beating purple bleeds 
Up from its heart of sorrows. Oh, I've seen! 
Till I could scarce forbear to cry aloud 
For pity of it. Ulric, I would die 
For her! 

Ulric 
And I for you. 

Alice 

Thou sayest! But I 
Was telling thee of Granny. Yester eve, 
Trix stood upon the balcony, and I 
Clipped roses just below. The balcony, 
Thou knowest (on the morning side above 
The shrubbery) , is low, so low that one 
Upon the ground can clasp with ease the hand 
Of one thereon and talk in whispers. 
90 



The Queen Decides [Act I 

Ulric 
(bitterly) 

Nav 
Thou knowest, not I! 

Alice 

List then, Sir Pert, and thou 
Shalt also know even as I know. Upon 
The balcony stood Trix, and I below; 
And as I clipped, we chattered. Granny heard 
Within, and clump, clump, clump, came hobbling. I 
Had seen upon the garden seat, forgot. 
Father's hat lying. So I clapped it on. 
Seized Trixie's hand and whispered. Foolish Trix 
Could naught but giggle. Saints! how Granny 

stormed ! 
You would have thought, forsooth, my dress — 'tvv^as 

this. 
Indeed, this self-same dress, rose-colored, would 
Have caught her eye ; but, no, the hat was all 
She saw, and once I feared she would have caned. 
Had I not laughed, she would. Poor Granny 

thought 
'Twas Bertold. It was sport! 

Ulric 
(laughing with her) 

Sport! Alice, list, 
I'll tell thee sport more rare. Thou hast a hat. 
I'll drop a hint in Bertold's ear. 
91 



Act /] The Queen Decides 

(Alice does not understand, but looks at him 
bright-eyed, awaiting the development of his 
plot.) 

Ulric 

Thou hast 
A hat thou wearest pleasuring, a-droop 
With jealous plumes — 'tis big enough, God wot, 
To hide worse sins of feature e'en than Bert's. 
His girl-face well might pass, and Bert could use 
A twilight at the balcony with Trix. 

Alice 
(makes an O of her mouth, and clasps her hands 
delightedly at her breast) 
Rare, rare! the greatest sport I've had since Yule! 
Do thou tell Bertold, and I'll vouch for Trix. 

Ulric 
But when ? 

Alice 
To-morrow eve. 

Ulric 

To-morrow eve 
For Trix and Bert. This eve — Hath Trix no hat, 
Sweet Alice, I can wear? 

Alice 

Oh, I'd not dare! 
93 



The Queen Decides [Act I 

Vlrk 
Not dare! what, thou? 

Alice 
(very demure) 

Oh, what a chubby child ! 
Look, Ulric, see how cunning. 

(A child of two has entered the court from the 
back, and is toddling unevenly toward the 
fountain.) 

Ulric 

Just at dusk. 
Alice, thou wilt? 

Alice 

Ah, what a darling child. 
I wonder whence she comes. Come hither, sweet. 

Ulric 
(crossly) 
Let her alone ! Belike, the little imp 
Comes from the servants' hall. 

Alice 

The little imp ! 
How canst thou, Ulric? Little cherub, 'tis. 
She will not heed me. Go thou ; fetch her here. 

(The child, without noticing the lovers, con- 
tinues her journey toward the fountain. Ulric 
93 



Act I] The Queen Decides 

mutters under his breath. Alice, with a teas- 
ing look at him, starts toward the child, but 
draws back as the King enters, accompanied 
by an old counsellor. The King's face is 
flushed and angry. The counsellor, firm- 
lipped, walks a pace behind.) 

King 

(violently) 

No more, no more! or, old friend as thou art, 
I'll hold thee traitor like the rest of them. 

Counsellor 
(looking at him compassionately ) 

And as a faithful servant, as one who 

Hath loved and served you from your glowing youth ; 

Hath watched with pride your selfless statesmanship, 

Far-seeing, and your eye still single for 

Your people's good ; as one who held you, Sire, 

A man of men, a perfect king, I dare 

To say that he alone is traitor who 

Shall place above his country's desperate need 

His limbs, his life, his fame, his hope, his love. 

Yea, e'en his wife, O King! Shall dare for that 

Brief span of life that shall be his and hers, 

To seal to serfdom unborn generations. 

(The King turns and stares at the counsellor, 
wild-eyed, grey-faced, but answers nothing. 
94 



The Queen Decides [Act I 

They pass out. Alice and JJlric stand pale 
and frightened with clasped hands.) 

Alice 
O Ulric, what is it? 

JJlric 
I know not, sweet. 
Perhaps the Austrian. 

Alice 
The Austrian? 

Ulric 
They say the Emperor urges that our king 
Shall set at rest the question of succession. 

Alice 
Well? 

Ulric 
That will mean the Austrian yoke or war. 
And after war, the Austrian yoke. 

Alice 
(falteringly) 

But our 
Prince Ruprecht? 

Ulric 
Is no closer to the throne 
Than Austria's emperor. 'Tis hard. . . . An heir 
Born to our King were our sole hope. 
95 



Act /] The Queen Decides 

(Both are silent for a space,, with young, 
troubled faces. Then JJlric laughs and shrugs 
his shoulders.) 

JJlric 

The bridge 
Is not yet reached. There are worse things than 

war. 
Sweet Alice, may I come? At dusk, beneath 
Thy balcony ? Thy promise ere I go. 

Alice 
(unsmiling) 

Yea, Ulric, I'll be there. And, Ulric, see 
Thou glean what news thou canst. The council 

meets 
This morn. Thou wilt ? 

Ulric 
Yea, sweet, if there is aught 
To glean. 

(He kisses her hand and goes, but pauses at 
the door and looks back laughing.) 
Have Trixie's hat at hand, else war 
Is immanent. 

(Alice laughs and waves her hand, but when he 

is gone she sits looking at the water with a 

^ troubled face, her hands clasped about her 

knee. The child, unnoticed, has climbed upon 

96 



The Queen Decides [Act I 

the coping, and lies flat upon it, playing with 
the water. The Queen comes down the stair- 
case at the back and approaches the fountain.) 

Queen 

What, Alice, art thou here? 
I called for thee but now. They sought thee in 
Thy chamber. 

Alice 

(rising and kissing the Queen s hand) 

I am here, your majesty. 

Queen 

(laughing) 
I see thou'rt here. 

(She puts her hand under Alice's chin and looks 
into her face caressingly.) 

Alice, thou art pale; 
And as I speak, tears gather to thine eyes. 
'Twill never do — Leave sadness to thy queen. 

Alice 
You're sad, Madame? 

Queen 

Yea, and I know not why. 
(sees the child in her perilous position) 
97 



Act /] The Queen Decides 

Ah, quick! the child! 

(runs forward and lifts the child in her arms) 

There ! that does well ! A perch 
Of dangerous pleasure. Alice, where thy thoughts? 
(The child caresses the Queen's face with her 
hands and coos delightedly.) 

Queen 

Who careless left thee here, thou pretty babe? 
Dost thou know, Alice? 

Alice 

Madame, nay, but I 
Should say the child hath wandered hither from 
The servants' hall. 

Queen 
What is thy name, sweetheart? 

Child 
Dolly. 

Queen 

And who left Dolly here alone ? 

Child 
Muwer. 

Queen 

And who is mother? 
98 



The Queen Decides [Act I 

Child 

Pitty chain. 
Queen 

Does Dolly want it? There. 

(Takes the chain from her neck and throws it 
about the child's.) 

Now, darling, who 
Is mother, pray? 

Child 
Her's Muvver. 

Queen 
(regarding her smilingly) 

True, who else, 
Or what but Mother! 

(The child, still playing with the chain, nestles 
closer into the Queen s arms, sleepily.) 

Queen 

Cuddle there thy head, 
Thou errant nestling, lost, and unafraid! 
So! 

(seats herself on a marble bench) 
Sleepy? cuddle down. Thy morning nap 
Is tempting thy sweet lids. Thy mother's lap, 
Is't softer than the Queen's? Ah, heavy eyes, 
I'll kiss them shut and croon them motherwise. 
99 



Act /] The Queen Decides 

Alice, is she not sweet; her cheeks are down. 
Note thou her eyes; no jewels in my crown 
So lambent are, and on the verge of sleep 
Their mystery grows unfathomable, deep 
And still more deep till we are lost therein — 
Or, rather, found. — A woman's soul can win 
Its true self only in their sweet serene. 

(Broods.) 

Alice 
(after a pause) 
Madame, shall I not seek the mother ? 

Queen 

(jealously) 

She 
Will come; have thou no fear — Ay, she will seek 
Even to the Queen's bed-chamber. It will teach 
Her greater watchfulness. Nay, let her seek! 

(sings) 
Bird, little bird, at my casement 
Singing so cheerily. 
There are crumbs of sweet cake for thy roundelay's 
sake — 
What more wouldst thou have of me. 
(Only the babe that is sleep on thy knee.) 
Nay, little bird, not so. 

lOO 



The Queen Decides [Act I 

(speaks) 
Nay, Alice, I am selfish. Go. By now 
The mother is distraught. The corridors 
Are devious. She may seek all day nor find 
The child. The baby must have strayed. Go thou. 
Find her and lead her hither. Until then 
The Queen will play the mother. Do thou go. 

(Alice goes out at the back.) 

Queen 

(sings) 

Wind, little wind, at my casement 
Tapping so ceaselessly. 
There are odors of rose in the Queen's garden 
close — 
What more wouldst thou have of me? 
(Only the babe that is sleep on thy knee.) 
Nay, little wind, not so. 

(speaks) 
So might I sing, sweet bird, wert thou my own. 
(O mother-heart, that never child hath known!) 
So might I mouth thy hands and dimpled knees 
In mother hunger ; kiss this tangled fleece ; 
So might I list thy breathing in sweet fear, 
Jealous of sudden draughts; so might I hear. 
Perchance, what dream-mates seek thee to beguile, 
What angel whispers soothe thee thus to smile. 



Act /] The Queen Decides 

Ah, little, crooked, rosy smile! A-tilt 
A moment on thy lips! Hast heard the lilt 
Of babes untempted from the star-shot air? 
List, if it hap my child sings wistful there. 

How sound she sleeps. Sweet, gold-tipped lashes 

sweep 
A-down, a-down. Ah me, I well could weep! 

(reenter Alice, accompanied by ■a charwoman) 
The mother ! A rough stalk to grow so sweet 
A blossom. She no other hath, or else 
This were not kept so daintily. Good dame, 
Give thee good day. 

JVoman 

God save Your Majesty. 
(She steps forward with a look of frightened 
pride to take the child. The Queen waves her 
back.) 

Queen 

She sleeps — and dreams. How came she in this 
court ? 

Woman 

(still frightened) 

I was at work. ... I bring the child. ... I have 
No one to leave her with, Your Majesty. 



The Queen Decides [Act I 

(the Queen nods) 

I was at work, and when I looked, the child 
Was no where near. 

Queen 

(to Alice) 

Then she was searching when 
You found her ? 

Alice 

Searching, Madame, and almost 
Beside herself with fearful conjecture. 

Queen 

She might well be. Know, dame, we found the 

child 
Her little body poised far o'er the curb. 
With sleepy fingers dabbling in the fount. 

Woman 

(stepping forward imploringly) 

Give her to me. . . . My babe. ... It is not fit 
Your Majesty should hold the child. . . . Give me! 

Queen 

(waving the woman back) 
Thou hast but one ? 

103 



Act /] The Queen Decides 

JVoman 
(looking hungrily) 

But one, Your Majesty. 

Queen 
Hadst ne'er but one? Thou art advanced in years. 

Woman 
One had I years ago, Your Majesty. 
The fever took him from me and there was 
No other till the Blessed Virgin heard 
And sent me this. 

Queen 

The Virgin heard — thy prayer ! 
Yet thou art poor; thy life already hard. 
The child, so young, through thy long day of toil 
Must be a constant, anxious care. Thou hadst 
Thy share of burden. Wherefore didst thou pray? 

Woman 
Your Majesty, what is a woman's life 
Without a child? . . . 

(She stops embarrassed. The Queen flushes, 
but speaks kindly.) 

Queen 
Thou speakest well — say on. 
Thou art an honest woman and a true. 
104 



The Queen Decides [Act I 

Woman 

The fever came and took the boy, my first. 
He was so big and fair; his legs were stout 
And hard as turnips. He was but se'en months, 
But sturdy as a yearling. Then the heat . . . 
My babe was one of many babes they said 
To die that summer — It was naught to me 
How many — I was young — and hard of heart. 
It was so cruel quick. Your Majesty, 
So quick it came ! Like as to-day he crowed 
And laughed, leaped in my arms, and in three days 
They put him underground, and I was left 
With a full breast, and ne'er a babe to feed. 

God bless Your Majesty, that you can weep 
With a poor soul like me. 

Queen 

Some day shalt thou 
For that child's sake be mother to a horde 
Of summer-sickened babes ... A scheme I 

have ... 
But Mary sent thee comfort in thy grief? 

Woman 

At first, Your Majesty, I did not want 
Aught but my sorrow for my baby ta'en. 
But my good man grew rough, I wept so much 
los 



Act /] The Queen Decides 

It fretted him — the neighbors chid ; and then 

It seemed 'twas naught would heal me of the hurt 

Except to feel a babe against my breast. 

And so I prayed. But Christ, He punished me 

For my long weeping. 'Twas nine heavy years 

Ere Mary sent the girl. 

Queen 

A pretty child. 
(puts the child into the mother s arms) 
I shall not soon forget her ready trust. 
She shall not want a friend. What is thy name? 

JVoman 
(curtsies) 
My name is Margot, save Your Majesty. 

Queen 
Take thou this, Margot, for the living child 
And for the dead. 

(The woman kneels to take the purse extended 
by the Queen.) 

Woman 
God bless Your Majesty, 
And send you your desire. 

Queen 
» (turns sharply away) 

Thou hast my thanks, 
io6 



The Queen Decides [Act I 

Good woman. Alice, guide her way beyond 
All chance of error. I'll await thee here. 

(Exit Alice and the charwoman.) 

Queen 

(draws a quick breath and speaks) 

The queen is pitied of the humblest wench 
Who takes her knotted fingers from the tub 
To soothe her hungry brood. This toil-worn 

drudge, 
Her home a hovel and her man a clod, 
Her portion, oaths, perhaps, and drunken blows — 
And yet, for that in that vile slime hath blown 
A golden blossom, that her grimy hut 
Hath shared the glory of the manger, that 
Her sunken breast was judged fit fount to feed 
A little child, a cushion soft enough 
To pillow a small head — she pities me ! 
As here about the court they pity me! 
And he — does he, too, pity — 

(She rises in a sudden revulsion to ecstasy.) 

Pitied? I? 
I, mated to the noblest soul that e'er 
Worked hand in hand with God. God never meant 
A woman sole for motherhood. A charge 
As holy — holier — Oh, it were sweet 
To feel the touch of little lips and hands; 
To bring his child into the world — to watch 
107 



Act /] The Queen Decides 

With him its growth — in tender rivalry 
Each tracing other in the burgeoning 
Of feature, heart, and brain. Oh, it were sweet ! — 
But greater boon is mine. — Not mother, I, 
But wife am I. Companion for all time 
To that lone soul, who stands too close to God 
For friend to know as fellow. Chosen, I, 
To stand beside him in that higher air — 
Consoler — lover — friend ! My king ! my king ! 
Through all eternity, mine — mine — so close 
That each is other — who of womankind 
So blest as I ! God, from His treasury. 
Gave me His chief est jewel — glorious. 
And I sole priestess in that service — Blest, 
Oh, blest am I ! — Not mother, — nay, but Wife ! 
(She stands in a dream, her eyes glowing, her 
face soft and filled with tremulous light.) 



CURTAIN 



io8 



Act II 

SCENE I 

A low balcony overlooking a walled garden. In the 
moonlight, Alice, dressed in white, stands near a 
carved pillar against which she leans. Beatrice, 
her younger sister, flutters excitedly from the open 
window to the balustrade. 

Beatrice 
If Granny wakes, I'll hold her, do not fear. 
I'll find some way to keep her. 

Alice 

Play some prank 
To call a lecture down. 

Beatrice 

I wonder now 
What she was like when our grandfather wooed. 
She says she had a many lovers. La! 
'Tis either they were brave or else she made 
A compact with the devil. He, I'm sure, 
Is now in league with her to torment us. 
Thus ! Nose on chin, mouth so, and back — there, 

do 
I look like her? She says I do. Oh, me ! 
I hope I'll die before the wrinkles come. 
Oh, there he comes! 

109 



The Queen Decides [Act II 

Alice 
Where? where? 

Beatrice 

Was not that he ? 
It must have been a waving shadow. 

(Giggles.) 
Alice 

Fie! 
Trix, go within. Thy sudden outcries will 
Wake Granny ere he comes. To-morrow eve 
Is thine. Go in. 

Beatrice 

I'll go before he comes. 
See, there he is! Fair faith, this time! He creeps 
There by the plum tree — just beyond the fount. 
I'll go — and I'll keep Granny; never fear. 
Oh, la! I wish it were to-morrow eve. 

(Goes.) 
(JJlric approaches guardedly. Seeing Alice, he 
discards caution, leaps a marble bench into the 
full moonlight, and advances eagerly.) 

JJlric 
Sweet love! 

Alice 

Ulric, what news? 



Act //] The Queen Decides 

TJlric 

Hast thou not, Sweet, 
Some kinder greeting for me? 

Alice 

Do not tease. 
Thy heart is sad as mine. What news? What 
news? 

Ulric 
None other than thou'st heard; the piteous news 
Which ran in rumor round the court to-day. 

Alice 
But is it true? 

Ulric 
Yea, it is true, I fear. 

Alice 
Thou dost not know? 

Ulric 

Dear Alice, it is true. 
(Alice bows her head upon the balustrade and 
cries. For a space there is silence except for 
the faint sound of her weeping. After a 
while, Ulric speaks, timidly.) 

Ulric 
No wonder, Alice, thou didst bring to court 
A heart so gay and tranquil. Thou hast lived 



The Queen Decides [Act II 

A rose among the other roses of 

This lovely garden. Never otherwhere 

Saw I the blooms so thick. How staunch they are ! 

The royal blood will tell! Their little heads 

Are held at night as proudly as by day. 

The lilies droop as lilies would ; and these 

Small blossoms underfoot curl inward on 

Themselves in fear; but they, the roses, lift 

Pale, smiling faces to the moon, who smiles 

On us, my rose, as he has ever smiled 

On lovers since the world began. Look up, 

Sweet rose, and smile. 

Alice 

(sobs) 

Oh, never, nevermore! 
No smile, no love, forevermore for me! 
My faith in love is dead. There is no love ! 
And he, the cold moon, smiles on treachery. 

Ulric 
Treachery ? 

Alice 

Yea, treachery. Oh, I 
Could cry aloud to all the winds of heaven 
Against this cruel thing. I can't believe! 
O Ulric, is there not another way? 

112 



Act //] The Queen Decides 

Ulric 
Dear Alice, there is none. A man may love 
A woman past the whole round earth, save that 
Small spot that calls him son. His faith supreme 
Belongs to God and that. I love thee well; 
The lady of my heart art thou, so dear. 
So very dear that this sweet earth is sweet 
Only because I know each morning's sun 
Brings vision of thy face, thy dancing eyes. 
Thy mouth all sweetness. Oh, I love thee more 
Than my poor, stammering tongue can tell; but if 
Thou, so desired, wert held at price of faith 
To king and loyalty to country — if 
To clasp thee I must needs turn traitor — 

Alice 

Then 
Thou'dst never clasp me! 

(breaks down and sobs afresh) 

Ulric, I was wrong! 

Ulric 

(passionately) 
Alice, I love thee most, I think, because 
Thou art so true. 

Alice 

But how can God be good. 
And set this fearful crisis on the land, 
That means disaster whatsoe'er the choice? 
"3 



The Queen Decides [Act II 

Ulric 
What know we, Alice? Thou art young, and I. 
When thou art near, unhappiness seems far; 
And gladness springs to meet thee like the grass 
That in the sunshine cannot choose but grow. 
What know we, Alice? Let us trust, and turn 
To that one thing we know — our wondrous love ; 
Our love, this moonlit spot, and thou and I 
Together. Nay, this balcony is yet 
Too high; bend lower, love, that never breath 
Of jealous night-wind come between thy lips 
And mine the while we whisper. Love, sweet love ! 

Alice 
Oh, not to-night! Speak not of love to-night. 
We, too, would seem to range ourselves with all 
The heartless elements that make no sign. 
Is there no bond ? — the night, the stars the same, 
The same soft sound of whispering wind in trees, 
The same still, sleepy note the darkness holds 
As tho this monstrous thing were not to be. 
Ulric, I am afraid. Life is not what it seems. 
What bitterness for thee and me it holds — 

(A voice within calls " Alice.") 

Alice 

(hysterically) 

Hark! Granny calls. Even this, even this the 



114 



Act //] The Queen Decides 

I must go in. Farewell. 

Oh, she will find 
Us, Ulric! I am coming. Granny. Go, 
Dear Ulric — See^ — I'll — make atonement — 
thus. 

(She bends. Their lips meet.) 

CURTAIN 



SCENE II 

The Queen's boudoir. The Queen and her ladies 
are embroidering tapestry. Back of them, are 
long windows through which the tops of trees 
are seen^ still in the mid-day heat. To the right 
and left are doorways screened with heavy cur- 
tains. The Queen is seated on a dais with an 
ebony embroidery frame beside her. The maids 
of honor sit around the dais. They look pale 
and uneasy, and keep their eyes on their work. 
Alice, seated on a stool at the Queens side, 
touches her harp listlessly. 

Queen 
(looking up, aware of the silence) 
But why are ye so silent all? 'Tis well 
We give your hands some fresher task to do; 
It may awake ye from your walking sleep. 
"5 



The Queen Decides [Act II 

Had ever queen such maids? Ye scarce have spoke 
This morn, whose tongues outrun your fingers as 
A rule. Have ye had nightmares, one and all? 
Or are ye love-lorn? Alice, sing again, 
And wake these lotus-eaters from their dreams. 

Alice 
(sings) 
Oh, heavy the toil of the dizzy noon. 

The air like a cap of steel 
Presses down on the earth a-swoon, 

And the pitiless blaze a-reel 
Weaves a dance of death around beast and tree, 

While the heart with its fountains dry, 
Beats with a slow throb, hopelessly. 

For its young dreams lifeless lie. 

Oh! thy pain is bitter, thy pain is deep. 

But the night cometh on apace; 
The lilies lie on her breast asleep, 

And a dream is in her face. 

She comes with the balm of a petal-soft air, 

And the perfume of jessamine blown ; 
Thou art wrapped in the swirls of her dew-dank 
hair 
And the moon-mist folds of her gown; 
She toucheth thy forehead and toucheth thy breast, 
And her calm is transmitted to thee; 
ii6 



Act //] The Queen Decides 

As a nurse with her nurseling she crooneth to rest 
With a low-toned melody. 

Oh, thy pain is bitter, thy pain is deep, 

But the night cometh on apace 
When the fields are healed in the dews they weep, 

And the gasping heart finds grace. 

Queen 
A pretty song, my Alice, sweetly sung; 
But what hath turned our lark to nightingale? 

(turning to the others) 
A plague upon ye for a flock of owls! 
Out with ye to the sunshine every one, 
And see that ye absorb enough to keep 
Your tongues and faces bright thro' working hours. 
Thou, Alice, may'st remain and strive to play 
More lightsomely the David to our Saul. 

(All go out but Alice and the Queen.) 

Queen 

(laying her hand on Alice's head and speaking very 

kindly) 
Dear child, whom well I love, what paling blight 
Hath struck thy spirit's brightness. Thou hast been 
Unlike thyself all morn. Art troubled? — 111? 
Speak freely to thy friend. 

Alice 
Am well. Nay, Madame, I 

117 



The Queen Decides [Act II 

Queen 

(smiling down at her) 

What then, my girl? But yesterday 
Thy bright eyes shot their gladness restlessly 
As light cast from a shifting mirror held 
In teasing hands; and not less hard to catch; 
For I have seen poor Ulric spin about 
A random circle, mazed to know which way 
To fly his falcon. . . , Is't a lovers' tifif? 

(Alice struggles to control herself, but bursts 

into tears and buries her face in the Queen s 

lap.) 

Queen 

Poor little heart! 'tis like to break. Ah! child, 
I fear thou hast not learned thy lesson yet. 
Love means not cherishing of little griefs, 
Nor nursing memories of little slights. 
Perhaps thy lover knows not his offense. 
The man's mind moves with larger radius; 
And if thy little signals are uncaught. 
And he hath seemed neglectful, it may be 
He hath not seen them; then is thine the blame, 
Who knows not Love unless he worketh signs. 
Or folds his mighty wings and strives to be 
Thine impish boy with bow and random darts. 
Ah! Alice, gird thy soul, and try to raise 
Thyself to the full stature of great love. 
ii8 



Act //] The Queen Decides 

Let thine own flight be high, and thou shalt know 
The ecstasy of onward rushing stars. 
All little happenings will pass thee by; 
For what of toil and fret and moil can vex 
Those who amid the ambient clack and blare 
Can whisper each to each, " Love, I am here." 
My girl, I who am blest with such a love 
Speak thus. 

(Alice starts to her feet wildly, and stretches 
out her arms to the Queen with a gesture of 
passionate protection. She seetns to try to 
speak, but cannot.) 

Queen 

Well, speak on, child. Thy queen will hear, 

(Alice flings her arms around the Queen s neck 

convulsively , then rushes from the room. 

The Queen stands looking after her, troubled 

and doubtful.) 

Queen 
There is a quality about her grief 
That moves strange fears. They flock like 

shrouded ghosts 
About me; strangely peer from well-known eyes. 
All whom I meet to-day avoid my glance 
As though upon their consciences there lay 
An injury unconfessed. The King — affairs 
Of state kept yesterday — this morn, he rides 
119 



The Queen Decides [Act II 

At an unwonted hour — not yet returned 
Although the hour is late. 

(She goes to the window and looks out. Re- 
turningj she sits at her embroidery frame, but 
rises again immediately, and pulls the bell- 
cord.) 

Queen 

I stifle here! 
The room's a prison. 

(A little page appears.) 

Queen 

Anselm, hath the King 
Returned ? 

Page 
I know not, Madame, 

Queen 

„ , , Quickly then, 

Cjo thou and see. 

(The pages goes. The Queen paces up and 

down the room in a tremor of undefined fears. 

She turns quickly as the page reappears.) 

Queen 

Well, Anselm, hath he come? 

Page 
Yea, Madame, as I reached the court I saw 
His Majesty dismount, and hastened back 
To tell thee of it. 

120 



Act II} The Queen Decides 

Queen 
Did he ride alone? 

Page 
Madame, I know not if he rode alone; 
He was alone when he dismounted. Sooth ! 
The horse, it was all foam! He may have left 
Companions on the way. His Majesty 
Had ridden hard. He and the horse were spent. 
Madame, he must have met the Erl-king in 
The forest! 

Queen 
(frowning) 
Prattler, go; and tell the King 
The Queen awaits his leisure. 
(The page goes. 
The Queen again begins her pacing. She 
has gone the length of the room once and has 
turned, facing the door, as the King enters. 
She darts to meet him, but stops with a sup- 
pressed cry and clasps her hand to her breast. 
The King advances with a strong step, his 
head erect, smiling quiveringly. His face is 
horribly ashen, his eyes bloodshot.) 
(whispers) 

Conrad ! 
(The King stands near her, smiling, but does 
not touch her.) 

121 



The Queen Decides [Act It 

King 

Queen ? 
Queen 
(still whispering) 
Conrad, art thou ill? 

(The King attempts to answer, but his face 
breaks up into a contortion of agony. He 
turns away and stands by the table, trying to 
steady himself. The Queen shrieks.) 

King 
(turning toward her) 

My wife — 

Queen 

Conrad, 
Why dost thou speak to me in such a tone? 
Why dost thou look so? Is thy tidings death? 

King 
(with a groan) 
My wife, is death so hard? I wish it were! 

(Again the Queen cries out, and stands rigid, 
her eyes on the King.) 

King 
(taking her hands) 
My wife, my life, as closely one with me 
As mine own soul; and in that highest bond 

122 



Act 77] The Queen Decides 

Of mated soul with soul inseparable 
As long as I am I and thou art thou, 
Whatever hap — 

Queen 

(echoes dazedly) 

Whatever hap — ? 

King 
(chokes and begins again) 

My Queen, 
The Emperor waits no longer. He insists 
Upon decision — will not further brook 
Delay — 

Queen 
(still dazedly) 
The succession? 

King 

Yea, the time hath come! 
No longer may we lay the question by. 
A thousand times I've faced it in the night, 
When thy sweet, sleeping presence added flame 
To furious Hell. And now the hour has come . . . 
The farce of settlement betwixt the mouse 
And lion. 

Queen 

Mouse and lion? 
123 



The Queen Decides [Act II 

King 

Ruprecht, or 
The Emperor. 

Queen 
It is Ruprecht, then. 

King 

And war. 
The issue is undoubted. 

Queen 

Then, the Emperor. 

King 

In either case, the Emperor. And the doom 
Of serfdom on a happy land, that now 
First hears the clank of chains. My father kept 
Them free, my father's father, his, and his; 
Back through the blackness of the centuries 
They kept unscarred their little, smiling realm. 
That blossomed out in sturdy peasantry. 
They loved their people singly. 

Queen 

Dost not thou? 

King 

Nay, I love my wife! 

124 



Act II] The Queen Decides 

Queen 
(her hands at her throat) 

Ah. . . . Conrad, speak — 
What wouldst thou say? say on. 

King 

An heir would save 
My people. 

Queen 
(whispers) 
But thou knowest — 

King 

(after a pause, and speaking slowly) 

Queen, they claim — 
Thy people claim the king, the queen, above 
The man, the woman. They assert their right 
To hold in peace their fields; to blood unspilled 
Of father, husband, son — To sheltered homes, 
Where no tax-gatherer grinds the peasant down 
To starved and sodden brutishness to fill 
The pouch of foreign tyrants. They assert 
Their right to freedom. — I must crucify 
My people — or — my wife ! 

Queen 

His wife! his . . . wife! 
To crucify his wife. . . . An heir to save 
His people. . . . Dost thou mean, to take 
125 



The Queen Decides [Act II 

Another wife ... to bear an heir . . . and I 
Go forth a Hagar to the wilderness? 

King 
God! I 

(turns sharply away) 

Queen 
O God! my trust has never faltered. I 
Have borne the hunger of the childless heart; 
The quivering motherhood within me walked 
In daily torture over fiery shards. 
Each child's eyes pierced afresh my bleeding 

wounds ; — 
Yet that Thy choicest gift was mine — his love, 
So wholly mine, I thought, the world was lost 
To our two meeting souls — for that I walked, 
Childless, among the motherless, and held 
Against my barren breast plump baby limbs, 
Spread out my motherhood, a royal cloak 
To shelter loveless children. God, I sought 
To stand beside him worthily; to work 
A help-mate at his side. Oh, have I failed ? 
Because I have no child, must I be thrust 
Away from love as well ? Is childlessness 
A leprosy to drive a woman forth 
An outcast from her kind, beyond the pale 
Of law and sacrament — unclean? O, thou. 
Thou, thou, to whom I gave such living wealth 
126 



Act 11] The Queen Decides 

Of love as never vi^oman gave — my king — 
Oh, I have thought the hoary legend true 
Of wandering angels lured by love of maid 
To leave their heritage. The wonder of 
Thy kingly soul stooped low to garner mine, 
The wonder of the upward flight with thee 
Hand-claspt — heart-claspt — to starry heights to 

which 
Alone I had not risen — 

(whispers) 

Conrad, thou, 
Dost thou not fear for me? From such far hight, 
How far shall I not fall if thou release 
Me, helpless, guideless? Shut in darkest night, 
Alone, alone, no husband and no child, 
How shall I feel I have a God? Oh, save! 
Conrad ! The blackness closes round me ! Shalt 
Not thou account to God for this soul lost ? 
'Tis thine; unwinged and meaningless apart 
From thee. Thou canst not, Conrad, say thou 

canst not! 

King 

My wife — 

Queen 
Yea, yea, thy wife. I knew thou couldst not ! 

King 

Wife of my soul through all Eternity, 
My love, my life, my star, shall I unclasp, 
127 



The Queen Decides [Act II 

Roughly unclasp thy clinging arms and thrust 
Thee forth despairing? Queen, if that thou goest, 
Thine is the deed, not mine. Lo, here I lay 
The Emperor's demand. Tis thine to say 
What answer shall be sent to Austria. 

(The King has one arm about the Queen. 

With the other hand he places a folded paper 

upon the table. 

The Queen, shrinking against his shoulder, 

looks at him, breathing quickly. There is a 

pause.) 

King 

When hast thou failed to counsel well? When 

blenched 
The front of battle? Never peril seen, 
Unseen, or dimly seen in fearful guise 
Of dreaded foe or deadly pestilence. 
Could cow thy wifely pride to lay thy hand 
Detaining on thy husband. Cheerfully, 
Not once, but many times, for public good, 
Hast thou not offered both thyself and me? 
And shall I doubt thee now? This hour art thou 
Sole sovereign to decide, and thy decree 
Is final. I and all the land abide 
Unquestioning the consequence. 

(The Queen still clings to the King, silent, 
but her face enkindles slozvly.) 
12S 



Act II] The Queen Decides 

King 

O sweet — 
O woman, soft and gracious, wife and saint, 
To worship as to love, it may be well 
That pitying Heaven grant the battle chance 
To save from madness — In the stricken field, 
Not mine alone, — a thousand ardent swords 
Will spring to thy defence ; a thousand hearts 
In fiery loyalty will offer up 
Their life-blood in thy cause, and hold it next 
Their hope of Heaven to die for thee — 

(The Queen draws back with a cry.) 

King 

I give 
Them, Queen, young, gallant, loyal souls, into 
Thy keeping. 

(The Queen holds out her hands entreatingly.) 

King 
(speaking with intense tenderness) 
Nor our chivalry alone! 
Thou angel of the lowly born, whose care 
Administering in uncouth huts hath wrought 
The miracle of thrift and cleanly lives, . . . 

Thou childless mother of the weak, the poor, 

Whose charity is wide as suffering; 

Thou, hailed in country lane and city street, 

129 



The Queen Decides [Act II 

Throughout this length and breadth of land, as 

saint — 
I lean on thee — my resolution gone — 
Into thy hands I lay my people's fate! 

(The Queen has drawn back step by step, until 
now she stands between the curtains of the 
doorway. Her eyes exult into his.) 

King 

Speak thou, my wife, my counsellor. I give 
My manhood to thy keeping, confident. 

(They stand looking, each upon the other, in 
exaltation. They stand upon the Mount of 
Transfiguration.) 

Queen 
(softly) 



I go. 



(She smiles and is gone. 
The King, left alone, looks about the room, 
unseeing — his hand touches a silken scarf 
upon the table. He picks it up, looks at it, 
and lays it down again. On the opposite 
wall, in a shrine of silver, is a small portrait 
of himself ; before it, the Queen has placed 
fresh violets. He walks over, takes the vio- 
lets, smiling musingly as he wipes the moisture 
from their stems. Still smiling, he puts them 
130 



X4 



Act 11^ The Queen Decides 

in his bosom. At length, the strong agony 
breaks forth. He throws his arms toward 
heaven with an accusing gesture — • and falls 
to the floor.) 



CURTAIN 



131 



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